


She Rides the Night

by Lil_Redhead



Category: Anne of Green Gables - L. M. Montgomery, Anne with an E (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1960s, F/M, Flirting, but I will say Anne is Johnny and has MAJOR bde, cons of this story:, dirty dancing!au, mamboing, no beta we die like men, no patrick swayze cameos, pros of this story:, you don't need to be familiar with dirty dancing to read!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27885847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Redhead/pseuds/Lil_Redhead
Summary: After Gilbert receives an all-expense paid trip to the White Sands Country Club, he expects to spend his week dancing with boring, rich old folks. What he doesn't expect is to be swept away by Anne Shirley, an intoxicating dance instructor who needs his help.Or: Gilbert learns that dancing and falling in love aren't all that different.
Relationships: Gilbert Blythe & Anne Shirley, Gilbert Blythe/Anne Shirley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 39





	She Rides the Night

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annewithab](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annewithab/gifts).



> To start with, you don't need to be familiar with the film Dirty Dancing to read this story. There are, however, plenty of Easter eggs for those who do enjoy the film! 
> 
> This is a present for my very dearest, most kindred of spirits, Alexis! It's her birthday today! This story has been somewhat of a secret between the two of us over the past years. But when I asked her what she needed to brighten her Pandemic-ruined birthday, she said she wanted this fic! I love writing this story and combining my favorite show with my favorite movie. If you have time, drop over to tumblr and wish her happy birthday ~ @hecksinki
> 
> !!Warnings!!: This story contains instances of period-typical homophobia and racism. Subsequently, there is a character who is shown having survived a hate crime, but there are no depictions of the crime itself. I left the aftermath descriptions tame without sugarcoating it. That said, it is brief.

**July 1963.**

Gilbert Blythe believed that country clubs were just cesspools where rich people spent their overflowing money on excessively overpriced entertainment.

Not that he ever told his father that when he was alive. John had always loved taking the family to the White Sands Country Club during the hot summers, even if his own son was subjected to Cha Cha lessons and line dancing with a bunch of stuffy old people. John never noticed the same things that Gilbert did; the way the grass seemed to die under its constant maintenance or how all the laughter came straight from well-groomed falsity. 

Gilbert, past and present, found the honesty of PEI’s spirit most relaxing. He’d take a picnic by the shore or a walk through the forest over a dance lesson anyday. 

So when Bash had asked Gil if he wanted to go on a _relaxing vacation_ after he got back from his Study Abroad in Nepal, the exhausted college student had readily agreed. The idea seemingly came from nowhere, and when Gil asked Mary, she shrugged.

“All I know, Baby, is that George Barry called a day or two before you came home. He said that since it’s the first year without your father around, he wanted you to know that you were still welcome for your annual stay at the club. No charge. Bash got excited because he’s never been on the guest side of the country club.”

Gilbert frowned. There weren’t many of his father’s things that he was willing to get rid of, but this family tradition was one he was happy to let die in favor of…well, better ones. But then there was Bash, who had worked at the club for his first job as a dishwasher nearly fifteen years before they had even met. He deserved to know what that extravagant luxury was like. 

That left them where they were now, tugging suitcases out of the trunk of John’s old car for bellhops to snatch away. 

“Oh, this place is exactly as I remember. The only difference is everyone’s dressed like it ain’t World War II anymore,” Bash commented, taking a bag out of Mary’s hand and handing to a scowling young employee. “Listen to that!” He turned an ear to the warm breeze. “Even the music is the same. Oh, Baby, you could just ease your worries away at a place like this.” 

Slamming the trunk, Gilbert took a look around with an odd expression on his face. Time had really stopped on this expanse of acreage, even if it moved, and moved, and moved in the real world. 

“Hey you!” Gilbert’s head snapped up, but he found the call wasn’t for him. Mr. Pye was marching up to Bash and Mary, who were waiting for Gilbert at the front of the car. “You lot aren’t welcome here. Just get in your cars and get back to where you-” 

“That’s quite enough, Mr. Pye,” Gilbert said, rounding into view. The suited man stuttered when his eyes fell on the scowl darkening Gil’s face. It was times like this that Gilbert wished he’d gotten into more fights as a kid. “George called and _personally_ invited us. I’m sure I can find him in his office if there’s a-”

“There’s no problem!” Mr. Pye stammered quickly. “My deepest, sincerest apologies to you, uh, Mr. Blythe. I thought these people were, well, you know.” 

“Oh I know what you thought. You’re a real picture of hospitality, Mr. Pye,” Gilbert assured sarcastically. It seemed like they went through this everywhere they went. “Look, I brought a few crates of apples from our orchard as a thank you. Where would you like them?” 

“You don’t have to worry about that. Jerry!” He waved an employee over. 

From a crowd of people appeared a young man with straight lines in his features and sweat stains at the collar of his t-shirt. 

“Jerry, take these crates down to the kitchen,” Mr. Pye instructed in a cold tone. If Jerry noticed the blatant disrespect, he didn’t even flinch, or perhaps he had just grown accustomed to it. 

“That’s not necessary, I can carry them myself. It’ll give Bash and Mary some time to settle in before it gets dark,” Gilbert cut in, but Mr. Pye brushed him off with a wave of his hand. 

“We’re here to serve _you_ , Mr. Blythe.” 

Jerry had hoisted one of the crates on his shoulder and was about to reach for the other one when Gilbert swooped it from his fingertips. 

“At least let me lend a hand.” 

The boys were off before Mr. Pye could utter a complaint, leaving the guest manager to cater to Bash and Mary’s comfort. Gilbert tossed a scowl over his shoulder at the man—maybe he’d be the one tasting the bottom of someone’s boot for once. 

“I know I look scrawny, but I could’ve handled both crates,” Jerry commented as they walked toward the staff building. 

“Oh, I have full faith in your crate hauling capabilities,” Gilbert promised a little awkwardly. “You seemed like you were in the middle of something and these apples are supposed to be a gift for you all. God, is he _always_ like that?” 

Jerry shrugged. They walked down the hill in silence. 

“You know, you don’t seem like the type of guy to be at a country club,” Jerry finally said. 

“You don’t seem like the type of guy to be _working_ at a country club,” Gilbert replied in the same tone. 

“Guilty. Dance instructor in the summers, farm boy in the off seasons. What about you, then?” 

Gilbert shifted the crate on his shoulder, a muscle in his back relaxing at the change in position.

“White Sands was always my father’s thing. But there’s gotta be decent guys that come here, right? I mean, my dad wasn’t half bad and he loved this place.” 

“I’m sure they’re out there. Probably.” Jerry looked down at the yard where a dozen couples were struggling their way through a mambo. Before them lay the staff building, its open doors pouring music out onto the lawn at Gilbert’s feet. Suddenly, he felt himself hesitate to go inside. “I think you’ll like the people in here a little bit better.” 

In spite of himself, Gilbert moved the crate to a regular carrying position and followed Jerry inside. 

As soon as he entered, his jaw dropped. The heat of the room slammed against him, damp and heady, only made hotter by the orange light that bathed what was happening on the center floor. Every unoccupied White Sands Club staff member, at least the young ones, had come to _dance_. 

It was sex set to music. Movement set to perfect rhythm. It was sweat, red faces, and cheers of approval. Gilbert didn’t realize people could dance this way. Couples swayed together with motions that were smooth and easy, bodies pressed together in every way bodies could touch with clothes on.

“Crazy isn’t it? Boss doesn’t even know, so don’t tell him,” Jerry shouted into Gilbert’s ear above the music. Gilbert gaped, not sure if he should jump in or run the hell away. The dancers parted to the sides so one couple could stage center stage. Moving to get a better view, Gilbert peered past the grinding dancers.

Then he saw her. 

Gilbert’s mouth went dry all at once. She was liquid fire spreading across the dance floor as if it were dry, dry grass. Gilbert wasn’t sure where to look first - her wild red curls that grazed the floor when her partner dipped her, her long legs of smooth freckled skin, the sweat that accumulated at the crest of her breasts. His heart pumped adrenaline through him when she wrapped her leg around her partner’s waist and pressed herself up against him. Laughter exploded out of her in gasps as something her partner said. She grabbed his hands and dragged them up her body. 

Her blonde partner, for all of his softer features, was more than capable of lifting her up, swinging her around, and catching her before she could hit the ground. Gilbert’s own lusty desire overpowered his usually rational mind, but he hazily realized that this carnal, passionate dance wasn’t just inspired by just sex. It also had its roots in real dance technique. 

The thought was gone as soon as it came when the redheaded girl met his gaze. She appraised him for a second, then winked.

Gilbert jolted, sending the crate crashing to the ground. The _bang_ was loud enough for every enthralled face to break focus and look at him. Gilbert didn’t see their annoyed surprise. His horrified eyes were too busy watching dozens and dozens of apples roll out into the center of the floor right at the feet of the redheaded girl. 

“Fuck, I am _so_ sorry,” Gilbert swore, cursing his own utter stupidity. “As soon as I clean this up, I’ll bury myself into the hillside. You’ll never see me again” 

“Hey, don’t beat yourself up about it. I’ll take it as a compliment,” the girl said, bending to help him. She was the only one. Gilbert couldn’t help but stare at the stormy gray of her eyes and the dampness of her lashes, and when she caught him staring, she threw an apple at his chest. 

“Who’s this you dragged in with you, Jer?” she called out. Before Jerry could answer, Gilbert’s frazzled brain sputtered out an answer. 

“Baby.” 

Gilbert’s eyes widened when he heard the words leave his lips. Did he have to be so fucking awkward _all the time_? He couldn’t have just given her his actual, regular name. Instead he slipped up and - 

“What’d you call me?” 

“ _No!_ No. I- I didn’t…” Gilbert took a second to right his head on his shoulders. “My name is Baby.” Her gray eyes grew.

“Really?” 

“Kinda...really,” Gilbert admitted in quiet embarrassment. His cheeks burned the longer she stared at him.

She let out a surprised chuckle, tossed the last apple into the crate, then kicked it over toward Jerry. It slid across the floor until it was out of sight, leaving them the only two things in the center of a crowd of gawking faces.

“Well, Baby...Wanna dance?” 

Gilbert’s brain short circuited. Did he _want_ to dance? _Yes_ —he wanted to dance with her in every way that she could make him move. Did he worry the soles of his feet had melted into the floor because of the heat and his own humiliation? Unfortunately. The girl flickered her eyes between both of his as if she were reading a book that was difficult to understand, but then flashed him a dimpled grin. He had no choice but to smile back at her in what was possibly the most embarrassing grin he ever sported. 

“Wait wait, hold on,” Gilbert laugh nervously as she stepped into his space. “I can’t dance.” 

“Good thing I’m a dance instructor,” she replied. Her soft touch found his hands, sweaty and a little shaky under the thrall of her. She placed them on her waist, and swayed at the moderate tempo of the song playing. Gilbert stood stiffly as she rocked toward him, her hips inches from grazing his skin. “Move with me, Baby.” 

He whimpered a noise no one else heard over the music as he struggled to move in time with her. The music seemed like it was a part of him, making it easier when he stepped to its sultry rhythm. The more he let go, the easier it was to meet her halfway. His hips chased hers when they spun away. 

“Ah, there it is. You’re getting it,” she cheered. She pulled her hair from her high ponytail, messed up her ample red hair with her fingers, then wrapped her fingers around his neck. The more they whirled, the more Gilbert felt he had been dancing his whole life. Her breath on his neck drove him to near insanity, so he tightened his grip on her. 

Drunk off of her heavy breathing, he dipped her back, and to his surprise, she let him. Her back arched backwards until her hair grazed the floor and her shirt had ridden up, revealing the soft porcelain of her stomach. She rolled up slowly up against him, and when she was standing up straight, she pulled him so they were eye to eye. Her feet still stepped to the beat, but her hands had begun a slow descent down his back. He shivered when her fingers touched the skin under the hem of his shirt. They hovered there until Gilbert gave a delirious headnod, sweat trickling down into his eyes, and her hands journeyed down to his backside. She gave one playful squeeze before grabbing him by his belt loops and spinning him. 

When he stopped spinning, even through his dizziness, he found she had switched partners to someone entirely new.

Gilbert stumbled back to the outskirts of the dance crowd on wobbly legs. Jerry’s smug smirk was waiting for him.

“Go ahead, ask,” Jerry said as Gilbert stood at his side. 

“Alright, I’ll bite. Who is she?” 

“Anne Shirley. Best friend of the boss’ daughter. She’s like a sister to me. One of the most requested instructors White Sands has.” 

“She’s…” Gilbert broke off, scrunching his face before he could say anything embarrassing or inappropriate. He cleared his throat. “I can imagine why. Who’s the man she was dancing with earlier?” 

“Cole MacKenzie. The ladies _adore_ him. Something about those baby blues, I bet.” 

“Are he and Anne…” 

A loud laugh erupted from Jerry, causing a few annoyed eyes to glare. 

“No, Cole doesn’t...he isn’t...I wouldn’t worry about him.” 

Gilbert’s face reddened at having been seen through as if he were a clear window. Jerry slapped Gilbert on the back a few times, then pushed him off toward the direction of the door. 

“I think you’ve had enough fun with us peasants for the night. See you around, Baby.” 

Gilbert gave a short wave as he left, but Jerry had already jumped into the floor and joined the revelry. The fresh air felt like a winter breeze when Gilbert finally found himself tumbling down the dewy lawn. Having been here nearly every summer of all twenty-two years of his life, he knew his way back to his room well by now. He had moments he liked to be alone after the days of exhausting socializing were over and shortcuts he could take to cut a trek across the grounds in half. The other guests didn’t venture down his shortcut because it passed through “peasant” territory, the tiny path where the employee cabins were lined. 

Ambling down the beaten path past the cabins, Gilbert replayed the last half hour of his life over and over again. He tried to fast forward through the parts of the story that were embarrassing. (Did he _really_ drop an entire crate of apples at Anne’s feet? Jesus _wept.)_ But then there was that moment when they shared the same air and her hands had grazed his skin. Gilbert shivered. 

Passing through a thicket of trees next to the cabins, Gilbert heard the rustle of greenery and the cracking of forest-floor twigs. At first, he prepared himself with an encounter for a skunk or a racoon. Instead, he bumped into a person, no, _people_ pressed against a tree and jolted back.

“Woah, sorry,” Gilbert said, startled heart leaping into his throat. In the dark it was hard to see, but the sound of lips tearing apart echoed around, and then two very masculine curses. In the moonlight, Gil made out a familiar face and two very, very blue eyes. The other man was a stranger to him, but glared at poor Gil as if they were terrible enemies. Cole, however, gaped at Gilbert as if he’d seen a ghost.

_Oh._ That’s what Jerry had meant when he said that Cole Mackenzie didn’t...that he wasn’t…

“I’ll just keep on going,” Gilbert stated. 

He’d only taken a few steps when Cole snatched his wrist and gave a frightened, “Wait!” 

Gilbert turned back, surprised by the terror he heard in the man’s voice. 

“Baby, right?” Cole whispered, and Gilbert gave a slow nod. “You seem like a good guy and all. You brought us apples. You won’t...you won’t tell anyone about this, right? No one at the club, or anywhere else?” 

Gilbert placed a comforting hand on Cole’s to ease the trembling. 

“Your secret is safe with me. I apologize for interrupting.” Cole’s grip only tightened. “I swear it, Cole. You can trust me.” 

Cole’s fingers loosened, and Gilbert gave him a nod before continuing down the path and back into the silent night. 

*

Once he’d seen Anne, Gilbert couldn’t _stop_ seeing her. She was everywhere. Across the room, flirting playfully with 80-year-old regulars who seemed to say just the right things to make her laugh. On stage at dinner time, dancing the cha-cha better than any of the other instructors. Or, ten feet away from him at a group lesson Bash dragged him to. 

Wait. Rewind. 

Oh _God,_ she really was ten feet away from him! When did she get so close!? Gilbert was pressed up in a corner, trying to avoid being called on as a demonstration volunteer and blooming into an unnoticeable wallflower. The older man she danced with was rigid with arthritis, but warm with a smile. This close, Gilbert could hear the polite compliments she paid him on his form and strength. The timbre of her voice was so kind and honest, it made chills erupt on Gilbert’s arm. What did he have to do to get her to compliment him too? 

Then, she was peering up at him through copper lashes and smiling directly at him. On instinct, Gilbert grinned back, so focused on the dimple in her cheek that he narrowly missed her outstretched hand. 

_Oh._ If he wanted to be complimented—or even acknowledged—he had to _dance_ with her. Yikes. 

Anne met him halfway and he all but stumbled onto the smooth dance floor. As Gilbert neared her, he could smell the intoxicating mix of sweat and perfume sitting on her skin. Her ginger hair, which he’d last seen tangled up in his fingers (Lord, help him), was now in two braids pinned on her head. Hopefully she didn’t mind his palms sweating. 

“Relax, Baby, it’s just a waltz,” Anne whispered as the music began again. “You know the drill. One-two-three, one-two-three. I won’t make you lead.” 

Gilbert shivered out a chuckle, not brave enough to meet her eyes. He kept his gaze glued to their feet, almost dizzy at the spinning sight. 

“This seems to be going substantially better without the crate of apples in your hands,” she teased. Gilbert nearly swallowed his tongue and hoped the warm lights didn’t make him look as red as he felt. “For what it’s worth, they were extraordinarily delicious.” 

At this, Gilbert chanced a glance up at her face. He found it warm and inviting. Friendly, without being fake or overwhelming. Once he let himself look, he never wanted to stop. So he didn’t. 

“I’m glad you liked them,” he replied, picking up confidence with each step. “My brother and I grew them and picked them ourselves in our orchard. You know, as a thank you.” 

“Oh, for what?” 

“Mr. Barry invited my family to come after my father passed away.”

“That’s real nice of him.” 

“Yeah, he knew my dad used to really enjoy coming.”

“But _you_ never did,” she noted, eyebrow cocked with interest. 

“H-how...how did you know?” Gilbert sputtered. If this was her work, he didn’t want to insult it in front of her. But she’d see right through him if he lied. 

“Call it a dancer’s intuition,” she said playfully. “That, and you were scowling up against the wall for the entire lesson.” 

“Guilty,” Gilbert groaned. Unexpectedly, Anne jumped in his arms, and he stumbled to turn her to the side. She chuckled, nudging him with her knuckles in appreciation for playing along. When the waltz normalized again, Gilbert found his voice again. “I’m from Avonlea and things are just so quiet there. It’s like, I’d rather be alone reading at the stream or something. It just seemed rude and dishonorable to turn away my father’s favorite summer vacation.” 

Anne grinned and Gilbert felt it all the way down to his toes. 

“Really? I’m from Avonlea too! I agree that the crystalline streams are far more preferable to the hustle and bustle of the country club. But it pays well. And like you, it just seemed rude to reject a job offer from my best friend.” She tilted back her head. “I’ve read with my feet in the creek hundreds of times and I’ve never seen you there. Are you the type to say things just to put yourself in favor with women?” 

To defend himself, Gilbert snuck a paperback from the inside of his jacket pocket and held it out to her. Anne read the title greedily. _Poetry and Prose_ by Walt Whitman. The cover was a mustard yellow color and worn along the spine, as if its reader had folded the pages back to read. 

“Count me impressed. Some fellows at my school don’t even know who Whitman is,” she said, the corner of her lips tilted up. Then, her voice turned quiet. “You dance like someone who reads Whitman.”

Gilbert’s heart felt like a stone bouncing over water, flying and skipping with nowhere to go. But exhilarated nonetheless.

“What does that mean?” 

Anne shrugged. But Gilbert knew it was there—that compliment he’d been aching for. And now that he’d gotten it, he wanted to replay the moment in his mind over and over until the words sounded foreign and perfect all at once. He opened his mouth to compliment her too—risking the possibility that he might never stop—but Jerry rushed up to her. He leaned close to her ear and whispered, uttering something Gilbert couldn’t hear. 

Anne gasped. 

“Oh my god, is he alright?” she whispered back, frantic. 

“I-I don’t know. It’s hard to say. He’s really banged up. Probably needs a doctor.” 

Gilbert jolted like someone had dropped an ice cube down his back. The moment between him and Anne was shattered into a million pieces, lost on the dance floor. She broke away, feet clicking on the floor as she rushed toward the door. 

Surprisingly (stupidly, amazingly) Gilbert chased after her. Just before she could slip away, he grabbed her hand. 

“Listen, Baby—” 

“No, look Anne, I’m studying to be a doctor. I’ve got clinical hours up my sleeve. If someone is hurt, bring me with you. I can help until you can call someone else.”

Anne bit her lip, then tugged on Gilbert’s hand until he all but stumbled into her. 

“Fine, but you can’t tell _anyone_ here what you see. Can you promise that?” 

“I-I think so.” 

Anne spun around, stopping him with a hand on his chest.

“ _Baby—”_

“I promise!” 

Then they were off, zipping down the narrow paths behind the lit buildings of the country club, back to the staff quarters. They seemed to live in single person cabins all lined up in a row, hidden inside a valley and veiled by a canopy of evergreen trees. Anne marched down the line of cabins until she found the one she wanted. She dragged Gilbert up the steps two at a time, yanking so hard she almost pulled his arm out of its socket. 

And inside was Cole. Gilbert’s heart sank. 

The blond haired man was laying back on a bed covered head to toe in bruises, cuts, and blood. The scrapes were worse underneath his eye, as if someone had pushed his face up against the concrete. The curve of his lip was cracked down the side and one of his eyes was swollen closed. Gilbert was sure it was probably worse under his clothes. 

“Happened in broad daylight,” Jerry lamented, throat thick. “Billy came out of nowhere. Must’ve thought no one would stop him. At first, no one did. They were waiting for Roy to come and knock him. But he wasn’t around.” 

A choked sound left Anne’s lips as she knelt by Cole’s bedside. Jerry clutched his arms to his stomach as he continued.

“By the time I got there, the worst was already done. As he was leaving, Billy spat on him. That _fucking—_ ”

“Jerry, please,” murmured a man sitting in the corner. Gilbert recognized him as the man he’d seen Cole with all those nights ago and suddenly, he knew what had happened. He met Gilbert’s eyes with clear distrust. “Who’s this?” 

“This is Baby. He’s got some medical training. Said he’d help,” Jerry explained. Gilbert didn’t waste another second. He quickly, but carefully approached Cole’s bedside and began making mental note of all of the bruises, their color, and their shape. 

“Hi Cole, I’m here to help. Is it alright if I take a look?” he said, voice soft. Cole’s lip trembled, another tear adding to the streaks down his cheeks, but he nodded. “Can you speak?” 

“Yes,” Cole croaked out.

“Are you numb anywhere?” 

Cole let out a watery, bitter laugh. “I wish.” 

“Where does it hurt most?” 

“My left side.” Cole brought a hand up to the spot, but was wise enough not to touch it. 

“I’m going to lift your shirt up and see if anything is broken.” Again, Cole nodded. He clenched his hands into fists, preparing himself for the movement. 

As gingerly as he could, Gilbert lifted the cotton shirt. When his eyes fell upon the injuries, he kept his face trained, aware of Anne and Cole watching him. Instead of saying anything, he moved his fingers under Cole’s throat, counting the pulse. Then he examined the split lip and scraps, checking for dirt and bits of concrete. 

“Jerry,” Gilbert called out. The man was at his side instantly. “Get a first aid kit and some ice. Water, too. Actually, maybe some whisky or something if you’ve got it, too.” 

Jerry did not have to be told twice and was out the door without a second word. 

“Is he going to be okay? Will he be able to dance?” Anne whispered, clutching Cole’s hand in hers. 

“Yes, he’s going to be okay. But I think it’ll be some time before he can dance again,” Gilbert said. Anne drooped over, half in relief and half dejected. “One of his ribs is seriously bruised, if not fractured. He’ll need an x-ray to make sure it’s not broken and posing a threat to his lungs. He’s breathing fairly well, though, so I don’t think there’s immediate danger. And his lip will need stitches. I’m going to clean the cuts here to make sure they don’t get infected. There’s a doctor in Charlottetown I can recommend him to. There’s not a kinder, more knowledgeable man in the field.” 

“Which one?” the man in the corner spoke up. 

“Dr. Ward.” 

“Oh, good good. I know him. He’ll be...discreet.” 

Gilbert looked Cole straight in the eye. “He will be, just as I will. You’re going to be just fine, Cole.” But Cole frowned and looked away like he didn’t believe it. 

By then, Jerry had returned with the first aid kit and Gilbert got to work. He didn’t even try to stitch Cole’s lip without some sort of numbing, though he expected he could. Instead, he focused his efforts on dousing little cotton pads in peroxide and gently sliding them over the open cuts. There were a few small towels of ice scattered around Cole’s body, but Gilbert asked Anne to hold the biggest against the swelling of Cole’s eye. 

Cole weathered the onslaught of pain and prodding with an admirable amount of poise. His lover hadn’t dared crossed the room to offer him comfort, guilty that the occurrence had happened in the first place. 

As Gilbert finished up, he threw away the bloody swabs and turned to Cole. 

“Will you be okay? Do you have somewhere safe to stay while you recover? Away from...away from the guy that did this to you?” 

Cole tensed. Gilbert bit the inside of his cheek. That was a terrible, scary _no_. 

“Wait,” Anne added in. “Aunt Jo. You can go stay with Aunt Josephine while you recover. She can help you press charges.” 

“I don’t want to press charges,” Cole stated thickly. “I don’t want anyone to know this happened. Ever. I just want to be better. To _dance_ and draw.” 

“Alright then, but Aunt Jo can help you do whatever you want,” Anne reasoned. 

At this, Cole sighed, a move that caused him to scowl in pain. 

“Okay, go ahead and call her,” he conceded. 

“I’ll drive him to the hospital,” Jerry chimed in. “Roy, are you coming?” 

Roy, the guy in the corner, took a deep breath and nodded. Gilbert gave him a pat on the back as he passed by, but the well-dressed man paid him no heed. He only sat at Cole’s bedside and pressed a kiss into the bloody, dirt-covered hair. 

“I’m going to get some air,” Anne decided before disappearing out the door. 

LIke a magnet, Gilbert went out and sat beside her. He didn’t touch or speak to her. They Just...breathed together, appreciating the gift of life and quietly mourning the unfair loss of it, even in small, unsubstantial amounts. Around them, Roy and Jerry helped Cole out of the room and into the car. Gilbert and Anne still sat on the porch, out of the way, legs and hearts dangling. 

They lingered in the silence until golden hour shadows began to creep over the field. Anne was the first to speak. 

“Thank you,” she said into the quiet. 

“No, thank you for trusting me. I know I didn’t help much but—”

“You helped more than anyone here could,” Anne protested. “You gave him compassion and reassurance. Jerry and I would’ve been running around panicking too much to be even remotely helpful. And you came to our rescue without even knowing us!” She shook her head in disbelief. “Where has Avonlea been hiding you?” 

Gilbert’s gaze softened. Then, on a low hum, he said, “Funny. I was wondering the same thing about you.”

It was Anne’s turn to blush. It turned all of her freckles a pale magenta color, lit bright by the setting sun. 

In the silence, Gilbert wondered if the timing was too bad to ask to see her again. To speak with her and hear about the things _she_ liked to read. But before his thoughts could race to a conclusion, Anne gasped in horror. 

“Oh _no_!” she gulped. 

“What is it?” 

“The Carmody Show,” she said. The pretty blush was gone from her face, replaced with blanched horror. 

“The what?” 

“Cole and I were supposed to dance the Mambo at the Carmody show to promote the club. It’s this huge honor and it pays _so_ well. Cole was going to use his half of the cut to move out of his shitty house and I was going to use my cut for school. _”_

Gilbert’s hand twitched, almost as if it had almost moved to hold hers without permission. 

“And the worst part is,” Anne continued bitterly. “Billy Andrews was second in line. If Cole can’t dance, then him and Josie will get to do it instead. They get the money, the credit, and absolutely no punishment for what happened. _Fuck._ ” 

“Is there no one else who can fill his spot?” 

“Well, Jerry is just waitstaff, Charlie and Moody are booked with lessons, and the Pauls put in their two-weeks two weeks ago, so _no_ Baby. There is no one else that can fill in,” Anne barked. Gilbert bit his tongue to keep from saying anything else stupid. “Wait, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. There just...isn’t anyone. Like at all.” 

“Too bad it’s not a waltz,” Gilbert teased, nudging Anne’s elbow. When she didn’t answer, Gilbert nudged her again, a little nervous. “Get it, because...because we just waltzed. Maybe that old man you were two stepping with is available.” 

“It’s...not a _bad_ idea,” Anne considered, more to herself than to Gilbert.

“What? That old guy? I don’t think his back could take the mambo.” 

“No, idiot. _You_.” 

Gilbert blinked.

“Me?” 

“Yes, you. And me. Mamboing.” 

Suddenly Gilbert felt like the idiot who spilled a crate of apples just because a pretty girl winked at him. 

“Absolutely not! That’s an awful idea,” he cried. 

“I just said it wasn’t! Just listen for a second, Baby.” Anne turned to face him head on. For a second, it looked like she might reach out and take his hands, but they fell into fists in her lap. “I’m a dance instructor. I can teach you how to Mambo. There’s a week until the show. That’s plenty of time.” 

“Are you crazy?” 

“A little, maybe? But I’m desperate.” 

There was something in the way her eyes reflected his own like puddles reflect the clouds. That something, along with her genuine heart and the pull tugging him closer to her, made Gilbert seal his own fate. 

“Alright, I’ll do it.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this dive off the deep end! It only spirals out of control from here. For funsies, what's a connection you noticed to the original movie? Or what's a scene you want to see adapted for Anne and Gil? I'm eager for all your thoughts!!
> 
> (If you're a pal and you're wondering where the hell I've been, I've been writing a novel! Or at least trying to. This story has proved that fic writing is exponentially easier than writing original work, oof!) 
> 
> As always, if someone hasn't told you today, you are dearly and wonderfully loved! ♥ If you ever want a pal, I'm on tumblr (royalcordelia) or if you're a twitter person, I'm there too (sweetdaisytessa). Happy December!


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